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Short story: <i>The Night Watch</i>


Picture for The Night Watch

Through the dark streets they carouse and slide and caper and slither and creep, metamorphising in each streetlight, snatches of snickering song bouncing off the pavements and bitumen and concrete and glass.

The pack, a collection of shadows, with bloody eyes and filed teeth, run their jagged nails down the windows of sleeping children, tapping eerily, scratching softly, crooning meaningless jingles with hoarse foul breath targeting dreamless innocents.

They fade and waver, slipping their feet through gutters and grates, whispering into the wind, darkening the night, herding nightmares and then freeing them like toxic dark balloons.

When the morning comes, their nails turn to tree branches, their songs to the wind catching in the wires, their steps into the pattering feet of running dogs. But they can wait for the night again.

This is the result of a fifteen minute writing exercise. The only constrictions were the time limit and five randomly selected words from the dictionary. Today the words were: breath, herd, target, pack, and jingles.

Image courtesy of rileyroxx.

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